


Prelude

by ghee (sabakunoghee)



Category: Twosetviolin
Genre: Behind the Scenes, Domestic Fluff, Holding Hands, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:15:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26927200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabakunoghee/pseuds/ghee
Summary: Brett was just, simply in love. With their product, with the synchronization, or maybe—“I love you too, Brett.”“…”—maybe, with his partner for the last fifteen years.Or,The duo admiring their own hard work in the softest way possible.
Relationships: Eddy Chen/Brett Yang
Comments: 1
Kudos: 48





	Prelude

“Thank you, Eddy, I love you.”

Brett Yang used to say those words only when they achieved some milestones; when they reached their fundraising goal, when they hit the two million subscribers, or when their newest collection of apparel sold out in an hour. Of course, Brett was blessed and grateful for having such a nice, supportive guy like Eddy Chen as his companion in — practically _everything_ in life.

He recalled how exhausted he was that day when his mother drove him to the math tutoring. Brett grumbled as sluggishly shoving his ass on an empty chair. If only he didn’t make friends with the younger kid with such an awful haircut taste, perhaps Brett would never know that happiness could be gained from others. He and his secluded little world, tried to open up once they both formed a strong bond through music; a friendship they would never know would last for years. Even decades. And still counting.

Because Brett was sure Eddy wouldn’t stick around after at least three years. Not after he finished his school, continuing his studies; they were one gap-year apart and Brett thought the younger one would find new pals, a new circle of musicians, or even a girlfriend. It was almost too easy to imagine Eddy being all high over heels once he was in a serious relationship. Brett always considered Eddy as a tender, shy individual, a polar opposite of him, and his somewhat-flirty demeanor. If the young virtuoso could treat a friend gently, imagine how sappy he would be in a romantic terminology.

Nevertheless, years passed and Brett never witnessed such things he might find ‘interesting’. He recalled he once tried to set up the youngest Chen with a harpist, a beautiful Korean girl, but Eddy frowned even before he mentioned her name. Thus, Brett stopped interfering with Eddy’s personal life, for their friendship was at stake. They continued this nameless, platonic affinity without asking. Sometimes, Brett _knew_ something was gradually changed, but he couldn’t quite catch what was what. All he knew, was the fact that Eddy grew more mature, more affectionate day by day. He wasn’t the genius brat who was aiming for the highest score of med-school entrance test (—and he _aced_ it,) just for the sake of validation anymore; only for abandoning their parent’s dream and chose music as his major. For `revenge`.

Turning the age of twenty-seven, Eddy transformed from a snob little punk into the most compassionate grown-up Brett ever knew. He often showed affection in front of the camera, when they were recording or completing a photoshoot; slight mellow touches or softening his voice as he talked, simple gestures Brett couldn't help but acknowledged.

Eddy had surpassed him as a man, as a _person_ — and Brett was happy for it.

“I love you, man, you’re the best,”

Nowadays, Brett used the sentence on daily basis; every after the camera died as the result of filming for five hours straight, once Eddy hit the last note of their violin-duet practice — or, for now, when Brett had to pretend he didn’t cry as they listened to the final version of their Prelude. They spent a lot of hours, arguments, even a little quarrel for this: a summary of their long-term journey in a one-minute-and-seven-seconds composition. A piece Brett would never know could move him, affect him this much. He was never _that_ proud of himself, not even half as much as Eddy, but he could say that he _loved_ this Prelude with all of his heart. Techniques came next. Not even his success in reaching the high notes and perfect pizzicato in the middle of the soft dynamics; Brett was just, simply _in love_. With their product, with the synchronization, or maybe—

“I love you too, Brett.”

“…”

—maybe, with his partner for the last fifteen years.

“Yea, Bro, I know, who doesn’t love me?”

Eddy smiled, “Except yourself, I guess,” he lightly chuckled once the deadpan face showed a splash of annoyance. His big hand formed a fist and he playfully smacked Brett’s sidearm, “—we did it, man.”

“I know, crazy, huh?” he discarded his thick glasses to rub his tired, puffy eyes. Brett stared blankly at the monitor, still couldn’t believe they actually made it, “I’m so proud of the high notes, you know.”

“I’m so proud of everything,” said Eddy, their laughter echoed in unison, “Now, the cover.”

Brett furrowed his eyebrows, “I can’t think anything besides our violins.”

“Yeah, that will do,” honestly, Eddy had nothing better to come up with, “With… flowers.”

“Flowers?”

“Beethoven Spring Sonata?”

_Ah._

Brett’s lips genuinely formed a gentle, humble curve, “With sky-blue background, to fill the negative space between two violins,” as usual, he completed Eddy’s idea; a complementary of his deepest soul, a legitimate thing you’d be having for knowing each other for decades, “Title goes in the center.”

“Vintage font,” they snickered together and it felt good. Eddy was always the romantic and cheesy one, but this time, Brett didn’t dispute. Deep inside, he wanted their very first classical piece to be as memorable as possible, and he didn’t mind to add one or two of Eddy’s sentimentalities. In addition, the Beethoven Spring Sonata project was their first time involving themselves in a conceptual photoshoot.

So, Brett wouldn’t object.

* * *

* * *

It was one in the morning when he leaned back, resting his neck on the top of the gaming chair they bought months ago, while Eddy played the Prelude for the sixteenth times. The younger man sat silently beside him, arms folded in front of his chest, face stern and serious. Perhaps he was judging his own playing. Eddy could be the best (—or worst) critique when it came to himself. So Brett stretched a hand, attempting his best in showing affection, then grabbing Eddy’s without hesitation. Eddy stared at him for a while, but he didn’t refuse; letting Brett’s calloused fingers traced his and interlocked them together. Brett filled the gap as if his hand was _supposed_ to be there, to hold Eddy’s when he felt alone, or when he distrusted himself. A silent language of ‘you’re allowed to doubt yourself, Eddy, but you could never doubt _us_ ’.

Eddy opened his mouth but closed it after two seconds. Only tonight, he didn’t want to question. Not about the warmth slowly spreading from his palms, through his veins, effortlessly calmed his nerves. Brett didn’t say any word either. Letting their simple touch spoke a language, not even music could ever do. 

‘I love you, man.’

‘I love _you_.’

**Author's Note:**

> (c) Jordon He and TwoSet Violin


End file.
